


tables and chairs worn by all the dust

by peterneds



Series: fictober '19 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Drabble and a Half, Fictober 2019, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Ned Leeds/Peter Parker, Podfic Welcome, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterneds/pseuds/peterneds
Summary: She leans in towards him and places her hands on his cheeks, presses them together so Peter's mouth looks like fish lips and she squeals with laughter (it is the best thing he's heard since he came back, she is the best thing that's happened since he came back). He chases that sound, chases it when he makes smooching noises, chases it as he kisses her head, her chin, her forehead, her eyelids, both her cheeks. She's so ticklish everywhere and she loves it - loves how silly Peter lets her be./title from 'to build a home' by the cinematic orchestra





	tables and chairs worn by all the dust

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt: "I know you didn't ask for this."

Morgan comes to their apartment often. Whether it be for dinner, or just because she misses May, she wants to see Peter's Lego collection, his Star Wars action figures, his Ned. 

There is a picture, the edges turning white, that sits on Peter's shelf, of Mr. Stark. He'd taken it one night that he'd stayed at the tower. It had been a hard week - so hard that Peter couldn't even put up a front when Happy picked him up from school on a designated Tower Day. So he made a stop at the Parker apartment for Peter to pack a bag and say bye to May before he drove them upstate and dropped him off at Tony's doorstep. 

It had been a good night. 

One of the best nights, actually. Peter always did such silly things in the times he got to be with Mr. Stark alone - he'd complain about physics or what Flash had said to him in the hallway, show him the upgrades Ned had helped him make to his web fluid formula, report his recent patrols. He rarely said anything of importance to him.

But on this night, they were tired–silly from it–and Tony had ordered them in noodles with chopsticks and all. He was so funny, Mr. Stark, an incredible sense of humor and wit hidden under his defense mechanism sarcasm. He'd stuck chopsticks in his mouth and made himself look like a walrus and Peter had _begged _him to let him take a picture because he looked so ridiculous. He'd snuck his phone up and snapped it just as Tony was reaching out to cover the camera. 

(The picture, albeit stupid, makes him feel like Mr. Stark's reaching for him, somehow.)

Morgan interrupts his train of thought as she climbs onto his bed, dangling her feet off the edge. She smiles and says, "that's my favorite picture of Daddy." 

It still shocks Peter to know that _Daddy _and _Mr. Stark _refer to the same person (it shouldn't, it's been six months and thirteen days, it shouldn't, but sometimes he still forgets and dials Tony's number and remembers just before he can hear his voicemail. Sometimes he lets it ring, so he can hear his voice again. Sometimes it hurts too much) and he gasps despite himself when he follows her big brown eyes up to the picture hidden between action figures and school trophies. 

It hurts, looking at it. It hurts to look at Morgan, sometimes, too. 

He does it anyway. 

"I think that's my favorite, too, Maguna," he laughs and ruffles her hair as he joins her on the bed. They sit face to face next to each other, and Peter feels all too big and all too small with her in front of him like this: the picture of innocence. He could say one wrong thing and ruin her for good. 

She leans in towards him and places her hands on his cheeks, presses them together so Peter's mouth looks like fish lips and she squeals with laughter (it is the best thing he's heard since he came back, she is the best thing that's happened since he came back). He chases that sound, chases it when he makes smooching noises, chases it as he kisses her head, her chin, her forehead, her eyelids, both her cheeks. She's so ticklish everywhere and she loves it–loves how silly Peter lets her be. 

When the kissing and tickling and stitches of laughter subside they lay down next to each other and look up at the ceiling. Peter's got glow in the dark stickers on it now, per Morgan's request one night when she'd slept over. She turns her head to face him, watches the way his eyes move side to side, taking in the neon glow of a galaxy in his bedroom. 

She pokes a finger in his cheek gently and whispers, "Peter."

Peter whispers back, "Morg."

"Where's Ned?" She asks, hopeful and a little sad.

Peter laughs. "He had homework to do tonight, but he made me promise to tell you he's sorry he missed you, and next time you come over, we're having a movie marathon. With your favorite candy," she gasps as Peter continues, "and a brand new, unopened Lego set."

She gaps theatrically again and looks at Peter with more meaning than the conversation deems necessary. "I forgive him."

"Yeah, I know you do," Peter tells her as he turns to hold her as close as she'll let him. Morgan's as obsessed with cuddles and affection as her dad was with his suits. 

She huffs and Peter feels it tickle his neck. "What's up, goon?" he asks, hoping the nickname will get him one of her giggles, but he feels his heart drop somewhere near his ribcage when he's met with silence. 

"Hey," he says gently, maneuvering them so he's sitting up against his wall. "Hey," he repeats, gentler, and looks deep into her eyes (they're so sad, he thinks, and there's nothing that should make the girl who can make him this happy that sad) and asks, tone more serious, "what's wrong, bub?" 

Morgan rubs at her eyes as they fill with tears. And Peter knows now, knows what this is about. Morgan only cries for one thing. "I miss Daddy," she says, and her voice is far too sad than it ever should be. Death hurt him more than he could ever describe, but he is angry at it for _her_, not for him. 

"I know," Peter says. He hopes she can't hear the way his voice breaks. "I miss him, too."

Peter holds her as her sobs pick up. He holds her and holds her tight as they rack her little body, even as he hears her breath hitch too many times. He holds her even though his heart is aching and he wishes that with all his stupid powers he could take away all her hurt. 

"I'm sorry," he tells her as he rubs up and down her back in an attempt to console her. "I know you didn't ask for this. It's not fair."

Morgan sniffles and looks up at him with bloodshot eyes and Peter never knew his chest could ache this much with phantom pain.

"S'not," she mumbles. "B-but," she begins, and places her tiny hands on either of Peter's shoulders (he's so big here, too big for her, he could crush her in a second and she'd never even see it coming), "you don't have your daddy either, right?"

"Right," Peter confirms. 

"That's stupid," Morgan says petulantly. 

Peter laughs wetly and it's almost enough. "Yeah," he gets out through his fit, "but I've got May. And your mommy. And you," he says, and nuzzles their noses together (and she laughs, and it's enough, it's _enough_). 

"Stop!" she cries through her own fit of giggles. "Stop," she says on an exhale and her face contorts into something serious. "And I got you, right?" 

"Of course," Peter says firmly. "Of course," he says again. It bears repeating. It's the only thing he's ever known with complete certainty. He's been a fierce protector of little Morgan since he first laid eyes on her. 

"Good," Morgan yawns into his neck. 

(It's enough.)

**Author's Note:**

> fourth one down i am catching up slowly but surely
> 
> let me know what u thought i love morgan stark more than anything
> 
> prompts are always welcome & encouraged! here's where to find me  
hcllnd on twit & tumblr  
ree182 on spotify for interwebs playlist


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